Interview: Wendy B Corduroy
by William Easley
Summary: Almost forgot I'd written this one and saved it up! In March, 2016, Wendy has been rejected as a college applicant. She has to go in for a personal interview to ask the admission committee to reconsider. She brings along a secret weapon, an old codger named Stan.


**Interview: Wendy B. Corduroy, Monday, March 7, 2016**

* * *

 _Conference Room A, Administration Building, Western Alliance University, near Crescent City, CA._

Wendy felt as though her smile looked pasted-on, phony. Her nerves jittered, and she hated trying to pretend that she was all cool and mature. The five people seated at the table, facing her, did not look up as they leafed through files contained in manila folders.

Dr. C. M. Canova, a woman well into her sixties, was the Dean of Admissions and sat in the center. She was thin, gray-haired, attractive in a mature way and impeccably dressed in a tailored blue women's business suit over a smoky rose top. On her far left sat Associate Dean Deavers, mid-forties, rumpled brown hair, bearded, rumpled tan tweed jacket, tie chocolate-brown and knotted but hanging loose, the director of the College of Environmental Science. Then Dr. Alice Franklyn, Associate Dean of Students, mid-fifties, in a severe black and white pants suit. On Dr. Canova's left, Dr. Akira Inouye, Dean of the College of STEM, Asian-American features, sharkskin-gray suit, two-tone blue striped tie, rimless glasses; and on the far end, Dr. Clayton Jameel, Director of Undergraduate Studies, gold-rimmed aviator spectacles, light blue suit, dark blue tie, age impossible to guess. He looked regal and handsome, like one of those African princes in a comic-book movie.

Together they made up the Admissions Committee, and they had met that Monday morning in special session because of unusual circumstances and at Wendy's request.

"Now, Miss Corduroy," Dean Canova said, finally looking up from the folder, "you are not applying for this coming fall, but for the fall of 2017. Is that correct?"

"Yes, it is," Wendy said. "When I got the rejection letter, it said I could re-apply. But I want to be certain, so I asked for the hearing instead."

Dr. Canova frowned a little. "You're graduating from high school this coming May. Why are you taking a year off?"

Wendy took a deep breath. "Well—first, I'm taking some undergraduate courses at my local community college, trying to get a head start before transferring. You have my college records there in the files, I'm sure. Second, I know your standards are very high. Just in case I can't meet them right now, I want to learn if I could improve enough to be accepted for 2017. Third—my fiancé is coming here. He's definitely in, because he's already been offered a scholarship. He won't begin classes until fall of 2017, though, because he's a junior in high school right now."

Dr. Jameel stared at her, his brown eyes sharp. "A junior? Really? he asked, raising his eyebrows. He had a resonant, deep voice and, Wendy thought, would be a commanding presence in a classroom. "Aren't you two a little young to be thinking of marriage?"

"That's why we're waiting," Wendy said. "He's a little younger than I am, yes. But we're committed."

Jameel nodded and adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses. "And he's already accepted and is a scholarship recipient. Your fiancé must be quite a catch! WAU doesn't ordinarily offer scholarships to high-school juniors. What's his name?"

"Pines," Wendy said. "D-uh, Mason Pines."

Inouye blinked and murmured something privately to Dean Canova, who nodded. "Yes, I remember reviewing his files and recommending the scholarship. Very gifted young man! Published writer already, very high SAT scores. Pines, Pines. The name is familiar somehow."

"You've probably heard of his great-uncle, Dr. Stanford Pines," Wendy said. "He's a well-known researcher. Mason has collaborated on some of his publications."

"Stanford?" Dr. Canova asked with a sharp glance. "Not Stanley?"

"Stanford," Wendy replied. "Uh—Dipper—excuse me, that's Mason's nickname—Mason, I mean, does have another great-uncle named Stanley. He drove me down today from Oregon. I, uh, I felt a little too nervous to drive myself. Stanford and Stanley Pines are, uh, twins." She bit her bottom lip, sensing that she was babbling.

While Dr. Canova leaned back in her chair, apparently absorbing that information, Dean Deavers of the School of Environmental Science simultaneously leaned forward, a half-smile on his lips. "You plan to be an Environmental Sciences major, correct?"

Wendy felt a little encouraged at the smile. "Yes, I do. I'm interested in forestry and in protecting the environment."

" _Forestry_?" asked Deavers, sounding a little surprised. He leaned his cheek on his hand, crumpling his beard, and tilted his head like an inquisitive puppy. "That's a very specialized field. Why forestry?"

"Well, the university is famous for its school of forestry. And then, my dad's a lumberjack," Wendy explained. "He's got his own business up in Oregon. Daniel Corduroy."

"Oh, I see. Therefore, I suppose you grew up in the woods?" he asked, smiling in an encouraging way.

"I sure did," Wendy said, meeting his gaze. "If you look at my record there, you'll see that I took first place wins at a whole bunch of lumberjack competitions. I've also got a good practical knowledge of the trees and environments of the Pacific Northwest."

"Really?" Deavers appeared to think for a moment. "Pop quiz, OK? Name five endangered Oregon animal species for me."

Wendy didn't even hesitate: "Gray wolf. Malone jumping slug. Yellow-billed cuckoo. Northern spotted owl. Giant earthworm."

"Jumping _slug_?" Inouye asked, blinking. "That can't be—"

"No, she's absolutely correct," Deavers said, his voice sounding delighted. "All right, Miss Corduroy, here's a forestry question: If you were harvesting Douglas firs for poles, what kind of a stand would you look for?"

Because she had helped Dan scout out locations, Wendy didn't even pause: "One on a slope, unharvested for seventy-five to ninety years. You'd need a minimum of about three hundred trees. If possible, leave the ones too small for cutting without harming them. In any case, immediately replant, preferably year-old saplings."

Dr. Franklyn cut in before Deavers could ask another question: "This is all very fascinating to a forestry specialist, I suppose, but let me ask this: I see you're a year behind in school. Why didn't you graduate with your class?"

Wendy tightened her hands into fists. She felt her face getting hot. "It's personal."

"If you don't want to tell us—" Dr. Canova began.

But Wendy had seen Dr. Franklyn's little dissatisfied frown and shook her head. "No. It's all right. Let me just—" She took a deep breath. "Let me get it together. The truth is, I was attacked and came close to getting raped when I was a sophomore. That was in December, between terms. After that, for some months I had a hard time concentrating and did badly in school. So later I had to make up some classes. But since then, I've kept my GPA up."

"Yes, I see you have," Dr. Franklyn said with a smile. "An A average, very good SAT scores, on the Dean's List at your community college. Now, I don't want to distress you—you did say it was _attempted_ rape?"

"I fought him off," Wendy said. She felt tears in her eyes and struggled to keep them from spilling.

"Good for you," Dr. Canova said firmly, her tone indicating that the subject was not only closed but nailed shut.

The panel had more questions, none of them as hard as Dr. Franklyin's, but then after half an hour, Dean Canova said, "You realize, Miss Corduroy, that this request for an admission so far in advance is unusual. We'll confer and let you know our decision within a few days. You said you rode down from Oregon with Mr. Stanley Pines?"

"Yes. He's waiting in the reception area."

"Let me see you out. Everyone else, please remain."

The older woman led Wendy down a hallway. The walls held aerial photographs of the campus over the years, from the 1930s to the previous year.

In the reception area, Stan sat sprawled in a chair, reading a Sacramento newspaper. He had dressed in suit—not the Mr. Mystery one, but a conservative charcoal-gray one—and a respectable tie. A fidgety-looking college kid, a guy who was rather handsome and looked as if he knew that, sat in the chair next to him. As Wendy and the Dean walked over, the boy looked at them like a drowning man spotting a life preserver.

"Mr. Pines?" the Dean said. "Did you take the campus tour?"

Stan folded the paper and stood up. "Oh, yes, I did. This young fellow—Willard is it? Willard, right, walked me all over the place and showed me the works. Told me all about the school. More than I even needed to know." Willard squirmed a little.

Dean Canova nodded. "Good. Oh, Wendy, this is Mr. Willard Yancey, a junior here. Willard, would you kindly escort Miss Corduroy around the campus and let her look around? She's applying here."

"Sure!" Yancey said, jumping up. Anyone could tell from his expression that he was going to enjoy showing an attractive redhead around campus.

The two younger folks walked out. "How'd Wendy do?" Stan asked, his voice tight.

"Sit down, Mr. Pines, sit down. That's better. First, tell me how are _you_ doing?" the Dean asked with a smile as she took the chair Willard had vacated. "I'd guess you're doing well—you're really looking good, Stan. You look a hell of a lot younger than I do. You don't even recognize me, do you?"

Stan tilted his head, squinting. Then a smile spread itself across his face. "Carla? My God, Carla McCorkle!" He reached over to take both her hands in his. "I was just preoccupied, 'cause of worrying about Wendy's chances. I'd know you anywhere! You're still gorgeous!"

She looked pleased, but chuckled. "I am _not_. I'm closing in on seventy! You look so much younger than I do." She released his left hand and glanced down at the ring. "I see you're married. A good woman?"

Stan laughed. "The best." He squeezed her left hand. "You, too?"

"My second husband," she said. "And, yes, it's been a good marriage. You were right about the first one, though. I didn't like being Mrs. Thistle Downe very much after the first three years. We split during the fourth one."

Stan shook his head. "Too bad. New husband good to you?"

She nodded. "Jeremiah's a very good man. He got me interested in going back to school—he was a college administrator until he retired a couple of years ago. I like the college environment, what can I say? I've been happy here for twenty-eight years, and I retire in two. Jeremiah and I have a grown son and daughter, and now we have two grandsons, two granddaughters. You?"

Stan shook his head and sighed. "Married too late. I got a wonderful pair of twins as a grand-niece and grand-nephew, though. One of them's comin' here to go to college in a couple years. Come to that, Wendy's nearly like a daughter to me. Known her all her life. Her old man and I are good friends. So—is she in?"

"That's . . . iffy," she said. Want to help her?"

"Any way I can."

She stood and tugged his big hand. "Then get up, come in and talk to us."

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Wendy and Mr. Willard Yancey returned from their walk. Stan was waiting in the reception area. "Well, that's done," he said. "Ready to head home?"

"I guess," Wendy told him. "Thank you, Willard."

"My pleasure, Wendy! I, uh, gave you my number."

"Yeah, I know," she said, and though her tone wasn't warm, it wasn't unfriendly, either.

As they walked back to the Stanleymobile, Stan said, "He seems nice."

Wendy shrugged. "I suppose so. I didn't have to slap him once." She took a deep breath as Stan opened the passenger door for her. "Come on, Stan, spill it. Any news?"

He didn't answer right away, but closed the door, went around, and got in behind the steering wheel. As he started the engine, before putting the Stanleymobile in gear, he said quietly, "Wendy, would it be the end of the world if you _didn't_ get accepted here?"

Wendy looked down. "I guess not," she murmured, almost whispering. "But I'm afraid Dip wouldn't come here if I couldn't be in school, too. He kinda has his heart set on this place. But—oh, I don't know. Maybe I could go to Redwood College? It's not too far from here. Or I could go to work, I guess. Only thing is, I don't want to be the reason Dipper can't go to his dream school."

Stan put the car in gear and backed out of the parking spot. "OK, the Dean told me all confidential-like that you gotta get four votes outa five to snag early admission. When they first polled, you had two outa five, with her abstaining."

"So I'm out," Wendy said, her voice exhausted.

"Wait a second. Let me tell all of it."

And Stan told her the rest of the story.

* * *

Stan had gone in and faced the interview committee, too. "Mr. Pines," Dean Carla McCorkle Canova said, going back to formal mode as she resumed her seat, "we need one more vote to accept Miss Corduroy this early. Make a case for her."

Stan shrugged. "I'm not so good at making speeches. I never had a chance to go to college. I'm just a businessman, so what do I know? What can I tell you all? She worked for me, and I saw her grow and mature and I would trust her with my life. She's strong, smart, skilled, and determined. She sets her mind to do a thing, she does it. I love her like a daughter."

"How about her family?" Dr. Inouye asked, toying with a silver pen.

Stan shook his head and said quietly, "Her mom died a long time back. Her dad's Daniel Corduroy, a leading citizen of Gravity Falls, long-time friend of mine for thirty years back. He never had much education himself, and I'll admit he's real rough around the edges, but he's a genius at the lumber business and at carpentry. Her mom was the daughter of Henry Ward Blerble—"

"What!" Deavers asked, sitting up straighter, his eyes snapping wide. "The guy who founded Tri-State Lumber Works?"

Stam shook his head. "Not him, not the old man, but his son. He inherited the business and ran it until he sold out."

Deavers slapped the table and glared down at Inouye. "Why didn't she tell us that?"

Stan shrugged. "Not her fault. See, she doesn't know."

"How could she not _know_?" Deavers asked.

"If you'll listen a minute, I'll tell you." Stan took a deep breath. "See, I've talked to her dad about all this, so it's confidential, OK? Her grandpa wasn't crazy about Dan as a son-in-law. Old man Blerble was rich, Dan was a dead-broke roughneck lumberjack who drank too much and was kinda a wild man. Anyhow, there was bad blood between them from the start. The couple cut loose from the Blerble family the day Wendy's mom married Dan. I don't think Dan's ever even told Wendy anything about that side of the family, 'specially not about Henry Ward. He was kind of a mean son of a bitch, pardon my French. It's a shame, but there it is."

"How did the marriage work out?" Dean Canova asked quietly.

"Dan's? It was great. His wife was the spittin' image of Wendy. I saw her around, never really knew her well, but Dan says she saved his soul. Straightened him out, made a man of him. And she musta been a loving mother and wife. Dan's a great big, tough guy, way bigger than I am, and to look at him, you'd think him a mean, rough sort of man. But if he even mentions his wife, he starts to cry like a little baby. He's tried real hard to be mother and father to Wendy and her brothers. A woman who could make Dan into a man like that—she musta been an angel."

Deavers looked at the others. "Does this convince any of you doubters?"

Nobody answered him.

To Stan, Deavers said, "Mr. Pines, you might have noticed the School of Forestry building."

"Yeah, I saw it, on the tour," Stan said. "Looks like a real nice place."

"State of the art," Deavers said. "There's a plaque in the lobby you probably missed. The name of the building is the H.W. Blerble School of Forestry. The company was the major donor for its construction. I'd say that means Miss Corduroy is what we call a legacy student. Isn't that the size of it, Akky?"

Inouye tossed his pen down with a clatter. Though he sounded a little annoyed, he replied, "All right, all right, then I say she's in. Carla? Is that it?"

"Only technically," Dean Canova said. "I happen to know her father's friend here. If he says she's good enough for us, I only hope we're good enough for _her_. We have four out of five. I'd rather it be unanimous. Dr. Jameel, do you want to change your vote?"

"Oh, I suppose," Jameel said, his face creasing into a grin. "And really, I think from her academic record that she'll do fine—but she and her fiancé aren't going to be distracted by each other, are they?"

Stan laughed. "Oh, man, are they ever! But her fiancé is my great-nephew. Together he and Wendy are somethin' else! They're—well, they're a great team. Trust me, together they're gonna set new records at this school. Can I tell her?"

* * *

"So," Stan finished, not looking at Wendy beside him in the car but grinning slyly, "that's the story. Unanimous decision, five votes for you. Congrats." He put the car in gear and backed out of the parking slot.

"I could kiss you, you old codger!" Wendy said.

"Naw, we're on the highway. I think California's got come cockamamie law against that. Carla says you'll get the official acceptance packet in two weeks."

"Carla?"

"The dean lady. I used to date her."

"Get out of town!"

"On the level."

"So you put in a good word for me?" Wendy asked, teasing him a little.

"Nah, not so much. It's just that they liked you. They were gonna let you in if you re-applied anyhow. I just kinda gave you a character reference. You did the groundwork yourself, kid."

"Don't tell Dipper, OK?" Wendy said, nearly doing Mabel-bounces on the car seat. "I want to tell him."

"My lips are sealed," Stan said. "'Cept right now I'm hungry as a son of a—gun. Want to stop for a late lunch?"

"Not yet. When we get into Oregon," Wendy said firmly. "Let's cross the state line. Then I'll feel like it's the time and place to celebrate."

"You got it, girl."

Wendy squirmed in the passenger seat, feeling like a five-year-old promised the best birthday present ever. She only had one problem.

How could she best surprise Dipper?

* * *

 _The End_


End file.
